DAY NINE: Master & Commando

Today’s new experience took the form of a dirty little secret.  If you saw me and noticed I had a cheeky glint in my eye, there was good reason.  For Day 9, I embraced freedom of dress, discarded my undergarments and went Commando. 

I’m obviously not going to pretend that I’ve never gone Commando before.  We’ve all been there: no clean underwear left in the drawer, no time to wash and there’s only one option: skip straight to trousers.  However, in the past, I’ve always managed to acquire a pair of boxers at some point during the day.  This time, I went the whole hog.  From dawn till dusk, there was nothing between my crown jewels and the rest of the world other than a thin pair of trousers.  #Scandalous

At work, I felt like I was on a sort of secret mission.  Chatting and working with colleagues throughout the day, and little did they know what lay beneath!  And every time I sat down at my desk, I was uncomfortably reminded of my mischievous undertaking.  Eventually, however, I acclimatised and didn’t think twice about my lack of unmentionables.

That was until I arrived at the theatre to perform.  Costume time!  “Oh, er, sorry, excuse me, I’m just popping to the loo to change!”  I may be open-minded, but voluntarily getting starkers in front of a dozen other people is not quite on my agenda.  At least not sober.  And then it was show time.  My character was definitely influenced by being Commando: I was channelling “secret naturist” and performed accordingly. Apologies in advance to whoever uses my hired costume next...

Post-play, and I took my vulnerable privates to the streets.  More specifically, to the dancefloor.  Clubbing without pants made the whole experience slightly more sordid, a feeling which was heightened by going to the toilet.  If any of my fellow party-goers had looked too closely at the urinal (wtf?), they would have definitely got more than they bargained for.  Or worse: if, in a moment of carelessness, I had forgotten to zip up, then I would have been like a lamb to the slaughter on a busy dancefloor full of wandering hands.  The mind boggles.

All in all, going Commando was a liberating, if not draughty, experience.  It’s not, however, something I would do every day.  Mainly for fear of getting hooked.  And I enjoy designer underwear too much to give it up completely, I’m afraid.

Day 9: Commando o'clock.  SORTED!

Peace & Love,

Rich xx